


and the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now

by Ganine



Category: Persona 3, Persona Series
Genre: Angst, Birthday, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, Marriage, Married Couple, Open to Interpretation, bad ending lol, birthday angst, im not a theatre kid i swear, inspired by a musical song ik u can kill me for it, minato snaps lol, mitsuru has been engrossed by the girlboss life and it bites her in the ass, musician!minato
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29370564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ganine/pseuds/Ganine
Summary: Tears pooled in his eyes, his hand outstretched at her like he was some broken down game show host, “Isn’t she wonderful!? Just 28, the savior of the Kirijo!” He exclaimed, voice growing unstable with every passing word.
Relationships: Arisato Minato/Kirijo Mitsuru
Kudos: 15





	1. i used to think one day we'd tell the story of us

**Author's Note:**

> [inspo](https://youtu.be/YbI3Pi8TY0A?t=236)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [inspo](https://youtu.be/YbI3Pi8TY0A?t=237)

She’s late. 

Minato glances at his watch, then at the chair across from him. He frowns, this was beginning to happen far too frequently. He says it’s fine, she’s a busy woman, her work is important. 

Is he not important too, though?

Minato shook those thoughts from his head, they wouldn’t do any good. It’s almost astonishing how the time gaps continue to expand, the first few times, it was only by the few margins of a minute––and now? An hour, two hours, maybe even more. He tries, believe him, he tries, to justify all of it––it’s just getting harder and harder to do so. 

He drums his hand on the table, like it’ll somehow drown out all the thoughts. Strangely enough, it’s somewhat therapeutic. He glances towards his lock screen, not even so much as a message. The meal across from him is catching a cold and the empty seat catching dust. He perks up as the door opens, closing in a hurry and scrambling towards the dining area. 

“I’m so sorry, Minato, there was an emergency at the office and–”

He waves his hand, forcing a smile, “It’s okay, you’re here now,” here, for how long till she runs off again? “That’s all that matters.”

Mitsuru smiles, sinking herself into the seat across from him, “I’ll make it up to you, I promise,”

Yeah, that’s what she always says. He’s beginning to feel like empty words were just apart of her empty presence. 

“Are you hungry?” 

She shook her head, “No, I ate already, but thank you,”

He nods, pursing his lips. Of course she did, she was nothing if prepared. Often, it feels like he’s almost but forgotten how to talk to her. Conversations aren’t as long as they once were, filled with nothing but memories of a different time. 

“How was your day?” 

“Well, I helped Junpei with his baseball team,”

She chuckles, “I heard that ended in an ER trip,”

He smiles, they’re fine. This is fine, they’re laughing, everything is ok. 

His eyes rolled, “It wasn’t _that_ bad, no one was hurt.”

It’s a fleeting moment where everything is right, where they’re just a couple conversing over dinner, where she’s _his_ again. He glanced towards the silver on her ring finger, a reminder of a time where every night was like this. 

Where he didn’t sleep in such a big bed by himself, didn’t eat by himself, wasn’t so fucking _alone_. When did it change? 

When did _they_ change?

He takes a sip from the wine on his side like it’ll fix something tonight, “Are you busy tomorrow?” 

She raised a brow, “I’ll have to check with Kikuno, why?” 

He opens his mouth to speak, however, the familiar series of synths cutting him off. He frowns, shutting his mouth as she deftly excuses herself, bringing her phone to her ear. He takes a sip from the wine, he hardly doubted he could be sober for the oncoming conversation, anyway. 

Mitsuru seats herself back down, pursing her lips, “There’s a case they want me to go investigate, possibly shadow related,” 

“Now?”

She nods, “I’m sorry, it’s–”

“Important,” he cuts off, “yeah, I figured.” It comes off harsher than he intended it to. He rolled his food around, refusing to meet her glaring gaze. “Go, they need you,”

“I’ll be back in a few days, it shouldn’t take too long,”

A few days. 

Tell him the sweet white lie that she hadn’t forgotten. 

“It’s fine,” he exhales, chest suddenly feeling weighted. He watched her excuse herself, or rather, felt it as he had the sharp fascination with his cold food. 

He glances up to see her waiting, go bag in hand accompanied with a sad smile, “I’ll be back soo–”

His fork clatters onto his plate.

“I’m sorry, can I say this?” Oh no. “You know what makes me nuts?”

How odd, it seems that wine was hardly doing him any favors as the words continued to pour out. 

“The fact that we could be together, here together, sharing our night, spending our time,” He tried to compel himself to stop, but with each passing word it grew harder and harder as the venom began to seep into his voice. “And you’re going to choose something else to do–”

“Minato, that’s _not–_ ”

“No, Mitsuru, that’s _exactly_ what you’re doing!” He pushed himself off his chair, hands balling into fists as they clenched the table. “You could be here with me or you could be here with them and as usual guess what you pick.” The saddest of smiles snuck itself onto his face while he ran his hands through his hair. 

“Minato, I _have_ to go–” She stopped her defense as he slammed his fists on the table, their half-drunk wine spilling onto the table cloth and uneaten dinner shifting off its plate.

“ _No_ , Mitsuru, you do not have to go on another mission! With the same twenty jerks you already know!” His breathing grew heavier as each word seeped through. “You could stay with your husband on his _fucking_ birthday!”

He didn’t notice how her eyes widened, or maybe, that was what he wanted. 

“And, you could, _God forbid_ , even stay and watch his show!” The weight in his chest felt like an elephant, crushing him and his heart. “And I know in your soul it must drive you crazy––” he stalked away from the table, biting his lip in a fruitless effort to stop himself “––that you won’t get to play with your stupid shadows.” 

She attempted to reach out, a desperate effort to salvage what was left of them, “Mina–” 

He backed away from her, expression in pain as he continued on, “No! And the point is Mitsuru, that you can’t spend a single day that’s not about _you_ !” His lip began to tremble. “And you, and _nothing_ but you! Miles and piles of _you_!” 

Tears pooled in his eyes, his hand outstretched at her like he was some broken down game show host, “Isn’t she wonderful!? Just 28, the _savior of the Kirijo!_ ” He exclaimed, voice growing unstable with every passing word. 

Her lips shook, eyes glossed over as he refused to stop his endless belittlement. 

Then, just like that, he grew quiet, like all the fight and anger in him had just evaporated into thin air. “And I swear to God, I’ll never understand,” Minato plopped down onto his chair again, “How you can stand there straight and tall,”

He met her gaze, silent tears dripping down his chin, “And see me crying––” he poured himself another glass, “––and not do anything at all.”

He holds his face in his hands, reclaiming a shaken breath. 

“Go,” he breathes, sniffling, “just...go.” 

Mitsuru hardly says anything, using her sleeve to wipe away stray tears, clenching her bag, watching her husband cry longer than she should, and, eventually, leaves. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [next chapter](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1eOIiuChVwazX4DGbgkBIf?si=d538392bbc864d12)


	2. aren't we just terrified?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [don't let it fool you down](https://youtu.be/MZSCXE4CpCA)

She rests the back of her head against the door, emitting a shaky sigh. Unknowingly, she sinks towards the floor, clutching her bag till her knuckles pale. One of her index fingers caresses the ring on her hand, a wedding ring––a memento of unparalleled happiness. A piece of her that, as easily as it can be slipped on, can be slipped right off. 

She tucks her hair behind her ear, something she can control, something she can  _ fix _ . 

How could she be so  _ stupid? _

Once upon a time, she was falling in love. So madly in love, it felt like she was plunging into the depths of Tartarus.

And now? She was just falling apart. The memories played like a damaged supercut of ridiculous smiles and cozy nights to distant conversations and absent presences. She could hardly wrap her mind on  _ why _ , why she pushed him away, why she did what she did. 

When did she let all the happy days slip through her fingers? Was it the moment the Shadow Ops formed? The moment she brought the Kirijo Group to its former glory and beyond?

Or was it the moment, when the nights she looked in the mirror, became unbearable? When she no longer saw herself, but her father, the most precious person to her, robbed away before he ever had the chance of being present in her story once more? 

There are no answers, none she can answer for herself at the moment. 

Did she aim so high, she used the ones closest to her as nothing but stepping stools to her goals?

Aiming so high, only to have her disgraceful fall with no one to catch her? Mitsuru stood, wiping off dust, hand lingering on the doorknob. Amends had to be made, for his sake, at least. 

The apartment is still like it’s holding its breath, tense, awaiting the future of its tenants. The table and its contents are still as they were, untouched, a fragment in time. She makes her way to the kitchen, finding no signs of the cook who used it. Her fingers run along the marble countertops, recollections played as film reels of euphoric memories. 

Sleepy mornings, baking mishaps, moronic laughter, this kitchen held it all. 

Until it didn’t. Until there weren’t baking powder cleanups, no drowsy kisses, no new baking recipes every Friday awaiting her approval. 

It’s not like she stayed long most Fridays, anyway. 

She walks like a stranger in her own home. 

It’s not too far off of a statement. 

The living room is nothing but the same, maybe a few fresh throw blankets here and there, but that was simply it. Even in the dark, she sees the silhouettes of people. On one couch, a blanket draped over them, on another, one person on top of the other, and other memories. She chews her inner cheek, strolling away and towards the hallway. 

When did her home become but a shell?

There are plaques decorating the walls, diplomas, nominations, awards, all their accomplishments. Delicately, she touches a plaque hung on the wall, blurry-eyed at the remembrance of it. She remembers consoling him when his song didn’t win, even as he beamed at the simple nomination achievement. 

_ “I don’t really care if it won, I’m just glad they picked a song I wrote about you,” _

She never deserved him. 

Like it would break by her staining touch, she placed it back and skimmed over the rest of the awards. The majority all holding her name.

He was right. 

Miles, and piles, of her. 

She made her way towards their bedroom––did it even qualify as that anymore? Mitsuru pursed her lips, hand hovering over the doorknob like if she touched it would burn and sear her flesh. Slowly, though, she rotated it and pushed. 

He lay on his side, headphones cranked so loud she could hear its decibels from here. He didn’t move, nor shift, nor react in any way when she sat on the bed. 

She’s been thousands upon thousands of miles away from him, yet she had never known distance until they sat there in silence. The silence was deafening, driving her towards insanity. And still, she couldn’t find the right words. 

“You’re going to miss your flight,” he rasps, back still turned to her. 

“I’m staying,”

He shifts, “they need you,”

“Not as much as you need me,”

Minato sits up, headphones sliding down. “You won’t stay long,” he’s eerily quiet. “That next mission will draw you in and you’ll be out the door in seconds.”

Mitsuru frowned. “Then–”

“Then what, Mitsuru? You leave again at the sound of the next call? The next adventure? The prospect of the next battle so irresistible to you?”

Her lips trembled, “No!” She grabbed his arm, gripping it like she was going to lose it, “that’s  _ not– _ ”

“But it  _ is–– _ ” his hand held hers, his lips imitating hers, “––because no matter what I do, the fact of the matter just stands that I’ve never been enough to make you stay. I’ll be here while you go run off and play hero, as always.”

He guides her hand away from him.

Mitsuru shook her head, her hands reaching to cup his face, “You  _ are _ enough, you’re  _ everything _ to me,” she wants to say it’s his voice that cracks like a glass pane, but it’s not, it’s hers, “I told you I loved you by that water fountain and I have loved you ever since.”

He’s silent for a long while, leaving them both in the dark, metaphorically and literally. 

“...Then why did you leave? When did I lose you?” 

She couldn’t have answered that even if she wanted to. 

Mitsuru shook her head, “I think I lost myself somewhere,”

He cradled her hands on his face, “Then you have to retrace your steps,”

“I’ll retrace them here,” she exhales, “right where it all started.” 

“This apartment?”

“No,” Gently, she brought him into an overdue embrace, “with you.” 

They’ll be okay.

They hold each other tight, bodies pressed together and so much force applied they shouldn’t be able to breathe. 

Yes, they’ll be just fine. 

**Author's Note:**

> [what no i dont have a playlist for this ahaha](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1eOIiuChVwazX4DGbgkBIf?si=069d4e93074b4aab)


End file.
